


Some Things Can't Be Fixed

by katmarajade



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1244389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/pseuds/katmarajade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov feels that he's let them all down and Scotty has to assure him that that's not the case at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things Can't Be Fixed

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the post ST:ID repairs. I'd really been wanting to write this story ever since I saw the movie in the theater, and Oddmonster gave me a good reason to write this! It's not quite as cheery as my previous Scotty/Chekov fics but I promise the ending is hopeful (and in my head they totally figure it out someday.)

Scotty's just leaving when he hears the noise. For the past hour he'd thought he was the only person in Engineering, so he's understandably cautious. Things haven't exactly been safe around here lately. 

The _Enterprise_ is in dry dock, having undergone massive structural damage in the whole Khan and nearly plummeting into Earth mess. Scotty's one of the few who's stayed behind to watch over her while the crew was given an entire month of leave. 

"Uh, hello there. Is anyone here? This is the Chief Engineer of the _Enterprise_ and I should add that I'm armed and not afraid to defend my ship if necessary!" Scotty glances around briefly, grabbing a hyperspanner; it could pack a mighty wallop, as Scotty could attest after Keenser had dropped one of the bloody things on his head some months back. 

There's a scrambling sound and Scotty hears muffled curses. "Identify yourself!" he calls, channeling a hefty dose of bravado that he's definitely not feeling. 

"Sorry! Sorry!" At the familiar sound of Chekov's voice, Scotty drops his hyperspanner cum fearsome weapon. 

"Chekov! You scared me half to death. What are you doing hiding back there?"

Chekov's face appears. "Sorry, Mr Scott. I was just thinking."

Scotty eyes the young man in front of him carefully. He's used to seeing wide, bright eyes and barely restrained energy wrapped in a gold shirt. Today Chekov is still wearing a dirty red shirt and his face is tight and too quiet. None of his usual excitement plays at his mouth and his gray eyes seem dull, bloodshot. This isn't Ensign Chekov, the energetic genius who used to help him in the engine room for fun. This is Pavel, broken, weary. And it sucks the breath out of Scotty as powerfully as when he'd opened that cargo bay door into space for the Captain and the madman. 

"Are you all right?" he asks, mentally kicking himself as he says it, because Chekov clearly is _not_ all right. 

"I was just down here thinking, Mr Scott."

"Yeah, you said that." Scotty doesn't want to come out and say how terrible Chekov looks, so he goes for the first thing that comes to mind. "So, do you want a drink?"

"Vodka?" Chekov asks, his tone ever-so-slightly perkier.

"No. Scotch."

Chekov shrugs. "It'll do."

Scotty sputters. "It'll do? It'll _do_? This is the drink of the bleeding gods. It'll do, my arse."

Though he tries to look contrite, it's never been a strong suit of Chekov's, particularly when he doesn't believe he is wrong. "Mythology was invented in Russia, Mr Scott."

"Sure." Scotty lets it slide, because talking of Russia has actually brought a splash of color into Chekov's cheeks and Scotty can't help but want to keep it there. 

They sip scotch in silence for about fifteen minutes. Chekov's cheeks are even brighter and his smile is coming easier. But he looks as if he has the weight of the world on his narrow shoulders and it's making things churn in the pit of Scotty's stomach to see it. 

"So, are you going to tell me what's bothering you then, lad?"

Chekov tenses for a moment then sighs heavily. "I broke her, Mr Scott. I broke the ship. She was hurt and it was my job to fix it, but I couldn't do it. It was my responsibility. I thought I was prepared to deal with all situations, but I am not. I thought, as I was failing, that if only Commander Scott were here, then we would all be saved. He would find what is wrong and fix it and everything would be okay. But you were not there to save her, and it was my job to keep her safe for you, like I knew you would want me to do. And I didn't do it. I let her down, Scotty. I let the _Enterprise_ down and I let the crew down and I let you down. I'm so sorry, Mr Scott."

"Chekov, Pavel, bloody hell, man. You cannot be thinking like that. She was sabotaged. That bastard broke her, and broke her badly. There wasn't a thing to be done for it. I've looked at the logs, Chekov. I would have done exactly what you did. You held her together, you patched her up just enough to give the captain what he wanted. I may be brilliant and Kirk may tell everyone that I'm capable of miracles, which I am from time to time, but even I cannot fix everything. Some things are broke and cannot be fixed. And when that happens, it's not your fault. This wasn't your fault, Chekov. You performed admirably, better than most, and you should be proud of what you did instead of dwelling on what you couldn't do. And what you didn't do was let us down. You didn't let anyone down, Chekov."

"Yes, but …"

"No. You didn't let me down. You didn't let the captain down. You didn't let this lovely lady down. She knows and Captain Kirk knows and I know that you were giving it all you got and that's more than enough."

Chekov shrugs, looking like he's struggling to believe what Scotty's saying.

"Besides, Chekov. It was you who saved me and the captain from falling to our certain deaths, so I think if you're feeling guilty, that should more than cover it, don't you think?"

"I guess I did that."

"You're bloody right you did! I thought we were a couple of goners for sure and then you appeared, just in the nick of time. Never had I seen such a beautiful sight." Scotty flushes at the words he's just spoken, embarrassed that his mouth, as always, has gone on ahead of his brain. "Except sandwiches, which are also rather beautiful, I mean."

Chekov gives him a smile, one of the full, no-holds-barred, plasma-bright Chekovian smiles that make Scotty's insides swirl around like they're in null-G. Leaning forward, Chekov wraps his arms around Scotty, giving him a tight hug that lasts for one perfect and far-too-short moment. 

"Thank you, Scotty," Chekov says. Now that he's not quite as upset, he remembers to use the more casual name that Scotty's often given him leave to use. 

Scotty shrugs and receives another brilliant smile. It's worth more than Scotty can even quantify to keep that smile on Chekov's face. He drinks in the sight like it's a sip of a perfectly aged single malt, knowing that in his own darkest hours, it will be memories like this that he clings to, moments like this that carry him through.


End file.
